The Portrait Fan
by Ignus R
Summary: The particular portrait subject was never in his frame. Al knows why. Probably oneshot.


The portrait was always empty. Not only in Headmistress McGonagall's office but also in the main corridor's second frame before it branched to the four dormitories. Most of the students were not quite certain how the headmaster it depicted looked precisely, except that he was dark, austere, and evasive, always carrying the book he had been painted with. Some claimed the particular headmaster was ashamed or embarrassed, and that was why he barely stayed in the frame to be looked at. Others that he was too much of a spy to be able to tolerate being on display, even for posterity.

But I know better. Now, anyway.

Dad loved to talk about both my namesakes, of course- just like he loved to talk about everyone I never met, dead before I was born. I knew about Headmaster Dumbledore and Professor Snape and Remus Lupin and Sirius Black and Tonks and Moody so much and so well, they were more real than some of my uncles whom I rarely got to see. Mum would always say that it was Dad's way of keeping them alive and participant in our lives. I rather liked the stories, and didn't care for much else- until, of course, that wonderful and scary day when my dad, my famous almost-auror dad, straightened my clothes before going with me through the wall for the platform 9 and ¾.

It occurred to me only then, JUST then, I recall, that now so many things that had been just stories for me, would begin to be real. Just like daddy, I'd sit under the Sorting Hat. Just like daddy, I'd be expected to be sorted into the Potter house- Gryffindor… and what would happen if I did not?

James had a blast giggling at me about it. My brother always seems keen on reading my mind, and at the time mum already talked about his talent in Legilimency. Dad was reassuring of course, but James kept giggling and making faces behind Dad's back as he was talking about Severus Snape and his bravery. Dad was always pants at occluding his mind- his words- so who was to tell me James wasn't laughing and telling me with his grimaces that Dad was really lying?

Thinking back now, it amuses me, all this prepubescent angst over nothing, but back then it was no cup of tea.

Predictably, I did sort into Slytherin, just like Lily did later when she enrolled in Hogwarts. The Prophet had a field day when Lily sorted, because since James had sorted into Ravenclaw, and I to Slytherin, she had been the last chance for a Potter kid to be Gryffindor. Rita even asked mum if she'd be having another, just to get another shot at getting her progeny sorted into the right house.

In any case, it was when Lily sorted that I saw him for the first time, though I'd caught glimpses of his shadowy wisps of paint breezing through landscape paintings or behind armchairs as he followed me around before.

Oh yes, I knew he was following me, and after my second year, had actual proof. I am not too good at Legilimency, but I am much better at stealth- and I don't need invisibility cloaks.

It was his triumphant smirk that drew my attention, curled up as I was in the common room, reading one of the novels I love so much.

There he was, mismatched in the background of king Arthur's portrait- and as the old king was nowhere to be seen, I inferred the good old potions master had chucked him out. He was resplendent in all the acerbic glory my father would describe, holding on to his book, looking at me down his nose.

He wasn't speaking, but he'd made himself known and still enough for my scrutiny, so I knew he'd talk if I addressed him- so I did, trying to mask my excitement as best I could. After all, Headmaster Snape only spoke to the Headmistress, and only if he was coerced, dad would say.

"Hello, Headmaster Snape," I told him, sitting up slowly. If I moved too fast he could decide to leave. "I'm glad to be finally meeting you."

"Rubbish, Potter," the man smirked, tossing his head in superiority. "You are not simply glad. You are _enthralled_."

Slytherin folk tend not to be struck dumb easily- and I am no exception. But at that point, after two years already in Hogwarts and all the escapades occurring between Teddy, Rose and her penchant to harass Scorpius, James and everyone else, and all the romantic drabble that has been raging about Professor Snape and his unrequited but pure, undying love towards my grandma, this… this _arrogance_ managed to make me search for words.

But daddy's stories about him rang truer than ever, all of a sudden.

"No, I'm just glad," I raced to say before that smirk turned into something even more embarrassing for me. And then, just as I began to speak, my Slytherin wit began returning, and I grinned back at the man in the frame he confiscated. "It is great to finally meet a fan portrait- you know, that always follows me around."

I tried to strike as relaxed and self-absorbed a pose as I possibly could, all the while keeping my stare locked with the man's. He is imposing, even in the frame. I wondered, back then, just how he'd have looked in the flesh- dad's stories truly sounded real now, especially as the man's sardonic expression immediately turned into a distasteful, venomous scowl.

"I most certainly am _not_ your fan, do _not_ follow you around _or_ am concerned with anything even remotely connected with the surname 'Potter', Potter! How abysmally debased can your intellect, tact and perception be to even have the gall to _dare_ even imply something of the sort-"

"Come, Professor- we share our House and our name. You know I am obliged to give as good as I take," I found myself grinning, but my heart constricted in fear that he may leave in a huff and not return.

Severus Snape's eyes narrowed as he looked at me for an eternal second, then nodded once.

"Unfortunately, I cannot deny an objective fact- relay my grievances to your impudent father on the matter of your dreadful insolence."

"I promise," I said truthfully, because there was no chance in hell I wouldn't owl Dad with this story just as soon as I could get my hands on ink and parchment. And then I couldn't help grinning, while the professor remained impassive- but hey, he had more experience at this than me, and I didn't mind showing him that I truly was glad to finally be able to talk to at least a taste of who he was, is. "And I really must thank you, professor- for last year's."

The man just arched an eyebrow.

"For bringing help when I needed it, when I was alone in that old classroom. I thought I was going to die."

"You should have, for taking that imbecilic dare," the portrait conceded. "Very un-Slytherin of you."

"I thought I was safe, what with the bezoar in my pocket," I smiled a little forlornly. I already knew what the professor was going to say.

"A bezoar will do nothing for you, if you have no strength or capacity to put it in your mouth," he predictably sneered at me. "And a simple bezoar as a fall-back plan for conjuring the Nidhogg Serpent just to prove you can indeed do so, aside from the staggeringly obtuse character of the act, is nothing short of ludicrously, blithely, abominably _daft_."

I still have nightmares about the Nidhogg Serpent, the ancient wyrm's dreadful fangs and its horrible speed that made me unable to use my wand on it to banish it just as soon as the summoning was done. It coiled around me lightning fast, my friends suddenly lay on the ground, useless, and its fangs were sinking in my shoulderblade and clavicle, nearly ripping them off my body. I truly, definitely, had been certain I would die staring at a mouldy painting's frame in the derelict classroom where I'd gone to prove I could summon just about any ghost or creature- my forte in magic. I saw the potions master then, too, with the edge of my blurry eyes, kneeling at the edge of his frame, then running out of it so fast the frame itself fell off the wall.

Suddenly, there in the Slytherin common room with the potions master glowering at me, I felt chilled and chastised, and at a loss for words. In the silence that ensued, I was positive the Headmaster Who Saw Hogwarts Through had left.

But he had not. He cleared his throat and I felt I owed it to him to look at him. His face was not impassive now, nor did it hold contempt or disdain for me. It was thoughtful, calm, and satisfied. _Satisfied?_

"Potter, Slytherin or not, you are far too much your father's son not to make a ridiculously stupid blunder at least once in your life. I have yet to see one of you who will not take a dare. And I must say, that I am, after all, pleased with the particular incident."

"Pleased, sir?" I frowned in puzzlement. He nodded.

"Yes, pleased. It is enough for one Severus to die of a snake bite, alone, because of a stupid blunder he cannot take back. It was time for a Severus to survive the snake bite… _and_ the blunder… and be allowed to live, vowing never to make such a mistake again. From your conduct since then, I see that you are this Severus- and I am happy to have enabled the fact."

You know, I am one who never cries, for some reason. Tears just don't come to me easily, no matter how much sometimes I wish for the relief. It's James who has the capacity to bawl like an old woman.

But Severus Snape managed to make my eyes water, and for a second time in a few minutes that evening, left me at a loss for words.

He fidgeted as he watched me scrunch up my face, realizing that I had understood fully what he meant- and what sort of life he was wishing for me to live- then sighed dejectedly.

"You see, Potter? _This_ is why I don't make myself seen often. I came out simply to see Lily in green and silver, and what do I get? Blubbing. Again. I always get blubbing whenever one talks to me. It really is enervating."

I giggled besides my near-tears, and got up immediately.

"I'll fetch her for you, sir. She will truly be thrilled to know you."

And that is why I know better- no, _exactly_- why the frames of the portrait of the Headmaster Who Saw Hogwarts Through is nearly always empty.

Blubbing.

And this is it. Reviews welcome.


End file.
